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treasureplcnet · 3 months

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do you have any drawing tips? i'm just starting out and your style inspires me to keep going fr!!

HIYA !!! thank you that is so kind of you, i would say to keep drawing with references and do studies!! typically art studies (in like art school lol) are of old masters (da vinci, etc) but doing studies of styles that you like, like trying to copy a certain artist you like, also helps you develop skills !!

for example, lots of people (especially fanartists lol) do studies of artists like leyendecker while making the models their favorite characters/ocs, so it helps to make studies fun. literally look up leyendecker study on tumblr dot com and you will see hundreds.

(gets a bit long and rambly so i've thrown it under the cut :')

style studies can be anything! above was done while watching wolfwalkers, just loose sketches that copied the style as the movie went along. i love the design and style in that film, wanted to incorporate it in my character design work, so i tried it out myself! it let me know the kinds of shapes used in the construction, the way it moves (wrt to animation) and silhouettes. by copying something, you learn how to do it on the way (so the kinds of colors used, what works best with shading, etc) it's like. reverse engineering

even very loosely copying something to identify what you like about the style helps! these were modelled after the way slimsense on ig paints (her work is 2nd + 4th examples below, my attempts at 'paint' 1st and 3rd lol), but doesn't really look like her work. i'm not necessarily trying to make perfect copies. i liked that her paint didn't blend perfectly, was blocky, and the additional lineart over the painting, so i brought that into my own art. i tried to create a painting style that was 'my own' off of lots of trial and error, and seeing what stuck!

also find brushes you like! adobe has a bunch on their page (if you have photoshop, but i know there's some for procreate and other programs) and if you want the adobe brush files, lmk. i will send a drive link to you LOL (sketches of the same characters, using different brushes below. the two i used the most often, one being a solid inker and the other being a paintbrush)

generally doing figure drawing is good too. i've heard advice about art where you can only start breaking the rules after you understand them, and a good grasp on anatomy, proportions, etc is definitely a good place to start! good sites to use for this are line of action for poses, and the morpho books (if you need pdfs of this let me know, though you should be able to find them if you look lol) !

i would also say learn perspective early on. i have no tips for you here i am so sorry. i didn't and now it bites me in the ass, but there has to be a youtube tutorial for this out there that can help you AND me. same goes for color theory. quickly dropping my favorite van gogh quote of all time:

(quote is from a letter to his brother) just everyone needs the fundamentals first. don't worry about a personal style: that just comes naturally as you develop as an artist, and i was certainly inspired by a lot of the things i watched/consumed and artists i admired which absolutely shows in my work i think (manet. western comics. fma. avatar. pjo fanart. there are tells. you know how it is.)

also flip your canvas !!! like see below ... frankly this marcille is so lopsided (her entire face should shift to the left) LOL !! flipping horizontally makes the anatomy mistakes obvious, and shows you you what you need to fix. i should never have posted this as is but sometimes it works for humor and an artist is lazy </3

AND ALWAYS USE REFERENCES WHEN YOU CAN!! i should use more references tbh!!! it helps with posing, getting anatomy correct, etc, and my friends use pinterest a lot, though i tend to just google when i need to LOLLL

also draw what you like. there is genuinely nothing that is better for your art than getting into something REALLY BAD and then non stop drawing it. time + practice will lead to improvement no matter what the subject is!

i hope this was not too much information all at once !!! and some of it is helpful!!! it's a lot of basic improvement tips that i try to practice and use when i can :) so sorry that this got so long!!!!

#everyone and their mother is doing leyendecker studies like i should do one too #i would also kind of say 'find out how you like to draw'#i feel like lots of artists start by thinking you have to be able to do perfect realism but its not necessarily true #realism ofc helps. like ive said. its the foundation to start and it's good to know proportions and such #but if you realise you like to paint more like a impressionist than a preraphaelite . then its fine! just keep creating!#textposts that are like 'you should be creating for yourself and possibly 5 others who are into the same niche shit as you'#its true!!!!!!!!#this is actually so rambly. if this is not what you meant please let me know #i am also still learning and trying to get better. grind never stops. the only grind im happy to keep going at #answered #anon #also ok not sure also if there are manet tells . like there honestly arent but still. his art changed me.#ok goodnight. i shouldnt be awake. best of luck anon :)

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jaskwritesthings · 2 years

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I have a Dream x Hob prompt. I would love a fic where Hob talks about being in or having had a relationship with a man, dude's hundreds of years old and I refuse to believe he never tried this, and Dream is just lowkey being jealous. Maybe he knows why, maybe he doesn't either way he's just mad someone else got to know Hob in ways he hasn't. Would love it even more if Hob just gushes on without realizing that Dream isn't just being all regular dark and broody, he's in Advanced Darkness and wants a name and that name's worst nightmares. Thank you. I would just love to see our emo boy being all jealous.

tags: none

(ao3)

“You appear to have a fondness for this magazine?” Dream said as he admired the framed covers hung up on Hob’s walls. The style was new to him, more sketch-like than the art he’d seen before his imprisonment. The mixture of men, women and children looked like dolls in some ways, almost all of the individuals had ruby red cheeks and the faces were familiar enough to suggest a single artist behind all of the pieces. A faded handwritten tag named the artist as ‘J. C. Leyendecker’ below each print.

“Hm? Oh, that. No, no interest in it, but the man who made the covers, old flame of mine. Damn good artist, couldn’t help but collect his pieces. Got a few originals tucked away,” Hob offered up just as easily as he did every aspect of his life for Dream.

Dream felt a flicker of something dark in his chest, it lashed out like the thump of a cat’s tail, a warning of its ire, “He drew for you?”

“Anything and everything, not just me. But he did paint me once or twice, can’t really loan those ones out to a museum though. People might catch on a bit, you should see what they say about Keanu Reeves,” Hob chuckled as he handed Dream a cup of steaming tea he’d been preparing as Dream snoped around his flat.

“You remember this artist fondly?” Dream questioned softly, no longer admiring the work.

“Joseph? Very, I always try to remember the ones I love. Gets difficult over time, wish I’d never pawned Eleanor’s portrait, can’t really remember what she looked like anymore,” he sighed sadly, an old grief that Dream recognised in himself.

“I’m sorry,” Dream offered though he knew from experience the words were never quite enough.

Hob smiled, it wasn’t as bright as some of his previous ones, tinged as it was by an old ache that had never fully healed, “Not your fault, learned from my mistakes anyway. I try to keep some things from old loves.”

Dream turned his attention from his friend to the artwork proudly displayed in his living room. There was little else of note in the room that Dream could guess at having belonged to someone other than Hob. To hold such value in Hob’s heart, the relationship must have meant a great deal to the immortal. The dark thing in Dream’s chest thrashed its tail more, a growl growing deep within it. It unsettled him how the fact of this relationship could upset him so.

“You loved him dearly, to keep his works in your home,” Dream pointed out.

“I did. We parted well, not always the case. Plus his work is beautiful, not really a hardship to hang it up,” Hob admitted with ease, why wouldn’t he. Why was Dream expecting him to hide his love affairs as though they were something to be ashamed of? He never had. Nor should he have to hide them. But it still set him on edge, a strange anger bubbling under the surface.

“You do not keep the trinkets of others here, just his,” Dream said and even he could hear the coldness of his tone, the accusation he had no right to lay out.

Hob appeared oblivious to this new mood as he sipped his own tea, “I try to keep with the fashion of the times. Minimalism is a hard one to shake, glad we’ve moved on from the white interiors, right pain to keep those clean. Clutter’s coming back in so I’ll probably bring some more stuff out of storage, not everything mind you, some of it’s too fragile. These are prints, good way to have him here without wrecking his originals.”

“How long were you together?”

“Only a few years, I didn’t stay in America long, England’s home for me,” Hob smiled fondly, though for the memories of his former lover or of his homeland Dream couldn’t guess. A voice within him that sounded too close to his siblings whispered spiteful things he didn’t want to examine too closely.

“Such a short time, yet a lasting impact,” Dream said, aiming for an aloof air and knowing he fell short by quite a distance.

“I seem to have a fondness for the quiet brooding ones,” Hob teased a touch tentatively as though worried he had a right to tease Dream anymore.

“You found him not long after our parting,” Dream surmised and he wished he could take back the words as Hob’s face dropped into something colder at the reminder.

“You mean after you threw a tantrum and ran out on me making me think I’d never see you again?” Hob reiterated as he left Dream’s side to flop down on the overstuffed sofa. His absence left a cold bitter wind in its wake and Dream shrunk just a little into the folds of his coat.

“I have apologised -“

“And I have accepted that, as I hope you will accept the fact that I needed more than one friend that I only saw every hundred years,” Hob pointed out and the truth of his words irked Dream. He was right as he had been in the White Horse Inn all those decades ago. It didn’t appear it was getting easier to accept that he wasn’t always right.

“I do not begrudge you your friendships,” Dream said, settling down into one of the armchairs, it hugged him and pulled him in. He shouldn’t be surprised by such comforts. Hob was a hedonistic creature, greedy for life and all it offered. His home reflected that in a way, comfort and warmth in equal measure. A sanctuary against the ever changing world that he could retreat too.

“But my lovers?”

Dream paused too long before offering a begrudging, “…nor them.”

Hob appeared unconvinced, rightly so, “Joseph was a good man, we loved each other.”

“I am glad,” Dream said, a pale offering that landed as heavy and as welcome as a brick.

“You hate him,” Hob said, lips twitching in amusement.

“I do not -“

“Calliope isn’t my favourite muse,” Hob interrupted and it was such a sudden change of subject that it took Dream a moment to process the absurdity of the statement.

“You dislike Calliope?” Dream asked slowly as though ensuring he had heard Hob correctly. Hob nodded.

“For the same reason you want to burn my art prints,” he explained and clarity snapped into place like a missing jigsaw piece.

“I do not wish to burn them,” Dream attempted to defend but it was a weak attempt.

“No?” Hob asked, almost laughing.

“…Perhaps replace them,” Dream admitted in a whisper he wouldn’t repeat if asked.

Hob heard him though, he seemed keenly aware of Dream in a way few were. He leant forward, elbows on his knees, as he fixed Dream with a warm, hopeful look. Dream suspected they had moved on from discussing art prints, “You can’t replace them. Any of them really. But you can join them if you’d like.”

#jask answers #the sandman #dreamling #dreamhob #i-will-find-an-untaken-url

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everybodyknows-everybodydies · 11 months

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*chinhands* Mercymorn plsssss

Why I like them: she's insufferable and ridiculously intelligent and hates everything and has spent ten thousand years despising herself while simultaneously being better than everyone else and she KILLED GOD???

Why I don’t: genuinely I don't think there's anything I dislike about her. everything she did was correct and justified and I'm so sad about her all the time

Favorite episode (scene if movie): every scene she's in is my favorite. acid jail. knocking out all of Augustine's teeth but respecting his request that she not make him bleed on his white dress shirt. pity-killing Harrow. every time she uses an exclamation point.

Favorite line: why would you make me CHOOSE. no but here's where I started crying and then didn't stop until the book ended like forty pages later: "You never loved him as much as I did. This is the moment. This is the chance for unlovable Mercymorn--critical Mercymorn--to show she is most capable of her name [...] Watch me, Augustine. I am the second saint to serve the King Undying. I will teach you a lesson in forgiveness."

Favorite outfit: the Leyendecker thirst trap outfit is simply incomparable.

OTP: ahaha you already know. Augustine. I just think the horrible old people with millennia of baggage should stab each other and kiss about it, what of it

Brotp: it seems like she and Cytherea probably had a nice friendship :(

Headcanon: prior to the resurrection she wore reading glasses. absolutely no reasoning behind this except it makes me smile imagining her furiously scrubbing at the lenses with the hem of her shirt and getting those funny dents in the bridge of her nose

Unpopular opinion: idk what's popular/unpopular bc I avoid the fandom writ large like the plague. uhhh. I think she's a lot more complicated than some people portray her. like yes she has some great comic relief moments but her entire identity is built on this kind of bone-breaking grief that she can't even really address ten thousand years later... I imagine the explosive anger and high-strung attitude is at least partially a result of the thousands of years of emotional repression in that regard.

A wish: Mercymorn the First pleeeease come back and kill God again and then marry me I mean what. who said that

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: I trust the author not to do this but the "babies ever after" ending would literally be both my nightmare and hers. at least she's dead so that can't happen probably yayyyy

5 words to best describe them: laser-deadly, tightly-wound spring.

#Mouse talks!#THANK YOU <3

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acheinside · 8 months

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an insult in the guise of a compliment. the tinkling of ice cubes in a glass of scotch. an engraved fountain pen. patronising laughter. tennis whites. an heirloom signet ring. love letters between war poets. airs and graces. a smile for every occasion. the works of j.c leyendecker. ruthlessly plucking out every grey hair you find. sparkling conversation. twisting someone’s words. playing the face card. dressing to the nines. a vintage sports car. a girl on your arm and a man in your bed.

statistics.

full name: the right honourable alexander heathecote-browne, sixth viscount esher nickname(s): alec, quill name meaning: defender of men age: forty-three date of birth: august 10th star sign: leo place of birth: near newington, united kingdom current location: london, united kingdom gender: cis-man pronouns: he/him sexual orientation: gay, but in that old hollywood way where he might just be a really prolific womanizer religion: church of england (nominally) occupation: owner of the daily mail family: charles heathecote-browne, fifth viscount esher (father, deceased) evelyn heathecote-browne (mother, née fortescue) annabel white (former nanny, maternal figure) education level: graduated from oxford university with first class honours living arrangements: primarily resides in a townhouse in chelsea financial status: wealthy spoken languages: english, french, latin

biography. (gambling addiction tw, suicide tw)

Alexander Heathecote-Browne was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, the world just waiting for him to come along and take a bite out of it.

His birth was little more than the fulfilment of a contract between his parents, the spousal agreement to get on with the process of producing an heir so they could go right back to ignoring each other. They ignored Alec too, but he learned quickly not to mind - he had Nanny, after all, and he loved her better than his mother and father combined.

As is the case with so many members of the British peerage, the majority of Alec’s youth was spent at boarding school; a gauntlet of cruelty designed to make or break you. For Alec, it was the former - he was a gregarious, outgoing young man, free with his smiles and too clever by half. Every move he made was calculated to ensure his own survival, and to that end he became something of a bully - the devastating kind that always seemed to see right to the root of your insecurities.

It was imperative that Alec installed himself near the top of the social food chain early on (though never actually at the top, where he was in danger of becoming a target), so that when the less palatable aspects of his own character became clear, he had a coterie of friends built around him already.

For a young man of the Greek persuasion, boarding school was at once a playground and a prison. It’s funny how many straight boys are willing to be leant an experienced hand, or even to share your bed, as long as you were willing to keep it secret. To pretend it didn’t matter. Alec became used to laughing off such trysts as youthful indiscretions, a way to pass time in the absence of any girls, and learnt to ignore how hollowed out it made him feel.

It was always a given that Alec would go to Oxford University, as all the men in his family had, though he likely would have made the cut even without his prolific ancestry. He was a good student, kept the right company, had all the right hobbies and new exactly how to conduct himself - it should’ve been easy. It was easy, right up until the end of his third year.

Rumours had been circling about Alec’s father, Viscount Esher, for a number of years by the time Alec was due to finish his degree. The gossip was easy to ignore at first - insipid slander from people too small for the Heathecote-Brownes to even see - but it wasn’t long until the talk gained real credibility, and credibility became outright fact. Viscount Esher was a gambling addict, and he proved it by pissing away the entire family fortune before finally putting a gun in his mouth.

At the grand age of 21, Alexander Heathecote-Browne became the sixth Viscount Esher, inheriting nothing but an empty title and crippling debt. It was a small mercy that he’d already sat his exams, but even his first class degree from one of the most prestigious universities in the world felt meaningless when his family’s business was being smeared across page six.

It was up to him to fix it - god knows his mother wouldn’t be able to pull herself away from the bar cart long enough to do the job. Alec pored over the scope of his father’s debts, chasing a paper trail that ultimately led him to the Red Rose Casino, in London.

It was here that Alec met the individual who would one day call themselves the Crimson Monarch. He was smitten right away - how could he not be? The Liddell heir was an intoxicating presence, clear-eyed and sharp-tongued, charming and dangerous. Devastating, really.

But Alec wasn’t there for Viktor Liddell. He came to see the reigning Crimson Monarch, to discuss settling the sum tied to his family name. Alec had a way of getting into places that ought to have been inaccessible, a force of personality that his father sorely lacked (a force that might have saved him, had Alec only known). He asked for a year to pay what was owed - a gamble most befitting the casino that housed their meeting - and by some grace of god, he was granted it.

So Alec fought. He clawed his way back into society using whatever means necessary, relying on his wits and charms to protect him, as they always had. His fallen prince act worked like magic on the grand dames of the London scene, their hearts easily won by a sob story, some flattery, and a handsome face. Before long he had enough capital to invest, and with those investments came the money he needed to pay back the casino. He was on top again (but still not right at the top).

All the while, Alec cultivated his relationship with the eldest of the Liddell children, whom he came to sincerely call ‘friend’. But it wasn’t just friendship, not for him. Alec was devoted to Viktor, infatuated with him, he just couldn’t help himself.

It all came to a head on the night of Alec’s 25th birthday - a few too many drinks were had, they were alone, and it was easy to let the lines blur. Viktor was clear that it shouldn’t have happened, but it did, and then it just… kept happening. And it could keep happening as long as Alec could keep it secret - which he did, of course. He was old hand at this by now, a man more hollow than flesh.

The dalliances (for that was all they were) lasted a while, becoming less and less frequent as time wore on. They were never any less friends for it, though. Alec was excellent at keeping things light, and would continue to do so in spite of the intensity of his own feelings, because it was better than the alternative: losing Viktor altogether.

When the old Crimson Monarch died, Alec resolved to be there for his friend in whatever capacity they needed, endeavouring to support them through their transition into leadership (not that they needed it - Viktor’s always been steady as a rock).

By this time, Alec was more than comfortable in terms of finances, and he set his sights on a new prize: acquiring the Daily Mail; the very newspaper that had so callously spread the news of his family misfortune all those years ago. However, even with the significant wealth he’d accumulated over the previous fifteen years, it still wouldn’t be enough to purchase the paper in its entirety. So Alec approached his dearest friend, the new Crimson Monarch, and asked for help paving the way.

It’s been three years since Alec acquired the Daily Mail, and under his supervision, the paper has become little more than a tool for obfuscation in favour of the Jabberwocks. If an unsavoury story crosses Alec’s desk, he sees it quickly and unceremoniously removed - after all, what’s the point in having power if you can’t use it to help the person you love?

other things. (dementia tw)

There’s nothing in the world that scares Alec more than growing old. It isn’t just his vanity, which is so easily offended, but the threat to his very personhood - he watched his mother lose so much of herself to dementia with age, and fears the same fate for himself. The disease isn’t hereditary, he knows, but that does little to soothe his nerves.

No matter how he flatters and coerces, never agree to play billiards with Alec if you encounter him at the Red Rose. He takes no prisoners, and will have you paying for his drinks for the rest of the evening.

His biological mother aside, Alec’s relationships with the women in his life are arguably the most important to him. There’s Nanny, of course, who he remains in contact with and takes out to lunch on her birthday every year, but he’s frequently enchanted by the wits and beauty of his female peers, and boasts a great many friends among them.

Unsurprisingly, Alec is a complete clothes horse, and has an impeccable sense of personal style. That being said, he is one of those annoying people that looks good in everything, so the fact that he dresses well is almost irrelevant.

Alec was three years above Prince William at Eton, and thought he was a complete drip. It’s deeply petty, but he takes a smug satisfaction in the fact that the future king went bald.

#alec: about #lf.intro #diversity win! this gay man is a terrible human being!#gambling addiction tw #suicide tw #dementia tw

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altermay · 11 months

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Who are your favourite artists? Greatest inspirations?

Im not entireeelyyy sure about my favorite artists honestly. J.C Leyendecker is a huge inspiration for me, and Im inspired by a lot of Genndy Tarkovoskys work and designs, Im generally a huge fan of art styles that include graphic and geometric elements. Keith Harring is also an artist I enjoy

Im mainly inspired by a lot of collaborative efforts like shows and such. Huge style inspirations come from The Venture Bros (shocker!) Spawn, various comic book artists (Im a sucker for that stuff, even though Ive never committed to actually buying comic issues. Any reccomendations are welcome!)

Im also inspired by the shows I watched as a kid, primarily old Hanna-Barbera cartoons, those hold a special place in my heart. Other shows I watched as a kid are like, Invader Zim, Courage the Cowardly Dog, 6Teen (remember that show?) as well as various animes I used to watch, that all really helped me develop my art style.

And finally just in general I looovee concept art. Concept art makes me so happy. Music inspires me a lot, as basic as that sounds. ALSO this sounds weird but im also really inspired by surgeries and photos and paintings of human anatomy, its like a morbid curiosity thing but it interests me so much. I think it would be cool to get to watch a surgery. Thats my weirdest inspo I think

I think thats all that comes to mind, I probably could name more artists but my memorys really shit lol

#ask me more stuff I love getting asks!!!!#art #ask #artists on tumblr #digital art #txt #long post

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nat-20s · 2 years

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shock of all shocks, I come bearing safehouse fluff fic. this one is courtesy of @elfgrunge, who suggested I do something based off of a leyendecker painting (I chose my favorite one) and @themoonversusstars who suggested Jmart having a nice night in. This only sort of qualifies, it’s more of a nice day out.

~*~

Under the majority of circumstances, three days is not a particularly long length of time. Indeed, the first three days following being pulled out of the Lonely had been a whirlwind of activity, ranging from going on the run to heartfelt love confessions. Martin had felt as if he’d barely been able to blink without time slipping through his fingers.

Three days after all that, however, had turned the half desperate escape/half romantic getaway in the Scottish highlands into something...well, to call it boring seemed rather ungrateful, but. Him and Jon could only spend so much time laying about the cabin together (god, together, would the thought ever not make make him giddy?) and living off of Daisy’s canned food stores before both of them started to get antsy.

Hoping to get rid of some of pent up energy permeating the air, as well as stock up on relatively fresher food, they finally made the trek to the local village to do the shopping. Other than having to pull Jon out of a slight trance when their cashier, apparently, had had a run-in with the vast, acquiring groceries had gone smoothly enough. Really, they should be heading back by now. Less time spent out in the open meant less chance that their whereabouts would somehow make it back to one of their various would-be tormentors. On the other hand, barring dusting, cooking, napping, or trying to get through one of the few pulp novels scattered about, there was nothing to fucking do. Jon seemed to have reached the same conclusion, because he nodded towards the book store and gently said, “You know, we do have enough cash for some, ah, indulgences.”

“Oh?” For the first time in his life since he was about 13 years old, he genuinely has no idea what his, or, er, their financial status is. There was a distant memory related to an ATM, maybe, as well as some notes changing hands, but the 24 hours or so immediately after the fog were... hazy at best. Jon had taken care of it, though. Jon had taken care of him, which was..uncomfortable and awe-inspiring in equal measure.

“Basira set us up fairly nicely, and there was a few additional stashes in the cottage itself. I don’t..I don’t know how long this situation will last, but we could theoretically be comfortable here for..a year? Maybe longer?”

“Woah.”

“Yes it’s.., I mean, it’s called a safehouse for a reason? Wouldn’t do it much good to run out of funds.”

“No, I suppose not. Though, it still feels kind of.. wrong? to spend money on anything beyond essentials.”

Jon gets as far as, “We certainly don’t have to..,” before trailing off, because it really is tremendously boring in the cabin, and to be honest, Martin doesn’t really want to go back empty-handed for entertainment either. “We should though. Maybe just, um, would you mind checking out on your own? I’d prefer to, er, not know the total.”

Jon gives him a searching look, but doesn’t press any further. Martin’s grateful for the reprieve, he really doesn’t feel like getting into the whole low level consistent trauma of general poverty thing on this pleasant casual outing. With a shrug and a simple, “All right,” Jon heads in. Martin trails after him, but his desire to read as of late has been borderline non-existent. After about ten minutes of watching Jon toss paperbacks into a basket, seemingly at random, Martin begins to wander the store on his own. He takes notice of the section with blank notebooks and fancy pens, but decides to steer clear. Writing poetry was never meant to be about skill or sharing for him. It was always meant to be more cathartic, a way of getting the tangled thoughts sorted onto a page and hopefully gain some relief.

Nowadays, though, his thoughts are less tangled and more sluggish, grey, and the internal reflection required for poetry would now likely be disastrous. He’s lived in his own head for the past year, and it was a deeply unpleasant place to be. No, a new notebook would be a luxury that would end up sitting unused in a drawer.

The small craft section, however, catches his eye. It’s hardly an expansive collection, but there is yarn (including a deep purple that would look incredible on his boyfriend), some cheap sets of crochet hooks,and pairs of knitting needles in handful of different sizes. Hell, they even got their hands on a few pattern books (which, yeah, okay, makes sense for a book store). Everything necessary to plunge him back into the world of yarncraft (and give him something to do with his hands) for around sixty quid, depending on how much yarn he got.

The thing was that he’d be sorely lacking in hobbies for the past while. And that that he remembered the comfort of it, the self soothing nature of the repetitive motions. And that he remembered the attention of it, basking when someone would end up watching his fingers, half hypnotized, or even ask to be taught the basics. Idly, he wondered if Jon would watch. Seems that Jon watches everything he does these days, half due to concern and half, much to Martin’s shock, due to genuine interest. It’s a nice thought, and it’s even nicer to imagine Jon receiving some knitwear that Martin had made with his own two hands. Maybe his eyes would get all soft and surprised and delighted in that way that seemed so so new and so so precious and absolutely knocked the air out of Martin’s lungs. Certainly he’d be more receptive to it than the previous primary target of his gifts. She had always, at best, been disinterested, and at worst would toss is back in his face muttering about shoddy, secondrate craftsmanship. Eventually he figured out a work around via the care home staff placing whatever he had made into her possession, but-

Oh. Huh. That’s why he had stopped. Not because of the criticisms, if he stopped doing things because his mum disapproved of them, he would do nothing at all. Rather, after she passed he just..didn’t have anyone to create for. Sure, he could make a sweater for himself, but by that point “Himself” was someone unlikely to last much longer, and it seemed quite the waste of wool. None of his living and conscious coworkers would’ve appreciated it, and a scarf for Peter would’ve been for the express purpose of strangling him with it. God, he probably should’ve strangled him but, well, Peter’s gone now.

Anyway.

The past is the past, and the present includes a very handsome man with perpetually cold hands who would happily receive gifts from him. Martin sort of, or, no, not sort of, fully strokes the royal purple hank of yarn. To his content, it’s plush, soft, and warm, without any of the scratchiness or clinginess that wool can sometimes be prone to. Perfect for, say, someone with more than a few sensitive scars on top of pre-exisiting texture issues. He can almost justify the expense if it’ll turn into gifts for Jon, but. But they also have premade items out of a similar wool, and the supplies will definitely make it quite a bit pricier, and it’s for a silly little hobby. Hell, he’s out of practice enough that whatever Martin makes will look significantly worse, uneven and wonky and riddled with dropped stitches.

Yeah, okay. He’ll just get a set that’s already been made, and surely Jon’s gotten a wide enough variety of books that something in there will be appea-

“Something catch your eye?”

“Augh!”

Jumped out of his thoughts by the arrival of a not-at-all sneaky Jon, he forces his shoulders to relax. Jon tells him, “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” and while that’s probably true, the small smirk on his face broadcasts that he’s hardly remorseful.

“Uh-huh.”

With the arm not holding a basketful of books that Martin is certainly going to be the one carrying home, Jon wraps himself around Martin. In many ways, it startles him more than the sudden appearance, but he doesn’t outwardly show that. Jon, in a shocking turn of events, is rather keen on casual physical affection, and Martin loves receiving said casual physical affection. It’s just...an adjustment. A good adjustment, but an adjustment nonetheless.

He’s getting mournful again. With a shake of his head, he clears out the last of the cobwebs, so to speak. Pointing to Jon’s bounty, he asks, “Is that everything?”

“Everything but whatever you’re going to get, yes.”

“I, uh. I’m not getting anything. There’s nothing really up my alley.”

The effect of his words is rather diminished by the hank of yarn still in his hand. Jon raises a rather unimpressed eyebrow at him. “Nothing?”

Gently placing the yarn back, Martin affirms, “Nope.”

“Now, I hardly have an award-winning memory, but I think I recall that you used to crochet. Would bring it around the office sometimes, I thought it was horribly unprofessional.”

“Of course you did, seeing as you were a miserable old bastard in your twenties.”

Jon nods sagely, conceding, “That I was,” while trying to subtly slip the yarn Martin had just put back into the basket. God, he is so bad at subterfuge. Injecting as much exasperation as he can into the name, Martin says, “Jonathan.”

Voice utterly plain, Jon replies, “Martin.”

“We are only getting books today.”

“Actually, I’m thinking about picking up a new hobby, so I’m going to get some supplies. For myself. Exclusively.”

“No you’re fucking no-”

“-what do you think I need? I’m not knowledgeable in this area, my guess would be a few pairs of needles-

“-Jon-”

“-some yarn, obviously, and preferably something warm and pleasant, the cabin gets so cold, you know-”

“-Jon-”

“-and I’ll probably want to switch things up get some crochet...things...whatever they’re called-”

“-they’re called hooks, and I doesn’t matter, because-”

“-maybe some pattern books? Maybe? That seems wise, considering the lack of internet availability-”

“-Why are you doing this?”

Apparently, the slight desperation in the last question breaks through to Jon. He peels himself away from Martin’s side, readjusting so that, while they can still hold hands, they can also look directly at each other. “Hmm. Part of it is payback for years of You should really get some more sleep, Jon and Why don’t you come join us in the breakroom for lunch, Jon and Here’s another cup of tea, Jon. Part of it is that you’re allowed to want things, and you’re allowed to have things, and I know that will take time to learn. And part of it is my own selfishness, because I do very much like seeing you happy. It seemed like there always used to be a sense of, hmm, not necessarily peace, but ease of existence when you used to crochet, and it’d...I’d be nice, if you could get that back.

God, okay. He’ll process the amount of love in those words when he’s not in public, seeing as thinking on it is either going to result in tears or giggles. Instead, he focuses on trying to not sound too dazed as he replies, “Um. Yeah, it..it would be.”

Jon searches his face for a few moments, then turns towards the craft supplies again. “So yarn, patterns, hooks, and needles. Anything else ‘I’ would want if ‘I’ were picking up this new hobby?”

The worst part is how easily he gives in. Martin should fight this. He doesn’t deserve any of this, not the materials and not the fussing. But. It’s hard to fight something that you both ultimately want and find (mostly) harmless. Plus, it infuses his entire body with a soft, glowing warmth to think about listening to Jon read one of the novels while his own hands make something. So, there’s that.

“Well, I would say that you have a ruler and scissors at home, but maybe some stitch markers, the things that look like lightbulb shaped safety pins, might be nice. I’d also say skip on the knitting needles, because maybe you are, uh, even more out of practice with knitting. But pick up the five pack of tapestry needles? The ones that look like regular sewing needles on steroids? And I’d also say this hobby is really starting to get expensive, especially if you were to get three of the purple yarn, so maybe just um. You should. Drop it….”

Handing him a tenner, Jon replies, “Sure, yes, of course, but, completely unrelated, would you please get me a drink from the cafe while I check out?”

Martin stares at the bill like it’s going to bite him, then sighs and accepts his fate. “What would you like?”

“Mmm, early grey? Oh, and a slice of lemon loaf, if they have it?”

With a “Righto,” and a two finger salute, Martin turns towards the annexed cafe, pretending not to see Jon immediately start grabbing yarn. The bags that Jon is (clearly struggling with) carrying upon meeting up again are bulging suspiciously, and while Martin knows exactly what their contents are, he’s found this whole song and dance surprisingly reassuring. Plus, there’s enough bulk there that he has to carry the majority of the shopping on their walk back, which is at least a little bit of revenge for what Jon’s just done. More revenge is found in putting away the groceries, and starting the fire, and cooking dinner. That’s all that he’s allowed to do before Jon admonishes him for being “too useful, good lord, go sit down”, even though he could’ve easily done the dishes, Jonathan.

Eventually, they’ve wound down for the night, still awake but relaxed and languid on the really-too-small-for-both-of-them couch. Jon dumped out the paperbacks without ceremony on their coffee table and is now digging through them for whatever’s going to entertain him tonight. As entertaining (endearing) as it is watching him with that little crinkle that forms between his brows when he’s focused, Martin’s feel the itch in his fingers to create something. It’s..nice. Almost forgotten, in the haze of the past few years, but still there. And, due to Jon’s insistence, something he’d be able to indulge.

Untangling his legs from Jon’s lap, he grabs the bag of supplies, and settles back in. To his surprise, the first hank of yarn he pulls out is not the expected plush purple, but rather a lovely chocolate brown. He holds it up to Jon and makes a questioning noise. It takes a second for Jon to pull himself out of his search, and when his eyes land on the yarn, they go wide. “Ah. Yes, well, um. I just..liked that one.”

He then ducks his head in the manner that means he’s blushing, which is very interesting. “Oh?”

“I...it..may have reminded me of your eyes? The- the color that came back to them when you, er, saw me in the lonely. It’s..it’s that color.”

“Oh.”

That’s..ridiculous. Objectively, it’s ridiculous, and overly sentimental, and just downright sappy. Martin adores it, and Martin adores him. He should let him know that, but how it comes out is, “God, you’re lovely.”

“I think you might be bia-” Jon starts, but doesn’t get to finish as Martin takes his hand and swiftly kisses his knuckles. He’s far too content to allow for that kind of self-deprecation right now. It has the intended effect of stopping Jon in his tracks, and the bonus of Jon melting into gooey affection. On that note, he gets up to go grab a chair, and Jon, though he’d never admit it, ever so slightly whines. “Where are you going?”

“Gotta get a chair. I need to ball the yarn before I can reasonably use it, and it’s significantly less likely to end in a tangled disaster if there’s something to hold open the strands.”

“Ah, well, couldn’t I just hold it?”

That...hadn’t occurred to him. He’s always done it own his own, sometimes using the back of a chair, something struggling to keep it held around his knees, and occasionally even wrapping it around a laptop. He knows conceptually that it be easier to have someone hold the yarn while he balls it, but, “It’d be inconvenient. It takes me around 20 minutes per hank, and someone seems to have bought about six of them.”

Jon airily tells him, “I don’t mind. Might be nice, actually.”

To Martin’s own shock, he believes him. Still, he adds on, “Okay, but if, like, your arms get tired or the texture is bad or just you don’t want to anymore, let me know.”

Jon rolls his eyes, but it’s a fond eye roll, so Martin will take it. “Yes, Martin, if the oh so harrowing task of holding yarn proves to be too much, I’ll let you know.”

Muttering “arse” under his breath and not even slightly meaning it, Martin settles back onto the floral patterned couch, and tells Jon to reflect his criss-crossed position. Pulling the first hank, he untwists it and places it around Jon’s hands, spread about a foot and half apart. They settle into an easy quiet for a bit, nothing but the motions of Martin winding the yarn making any real sound. It’s soothing, somehow, and allows his thoughts to aimlessly drift without becoming harsh.

He gets about halfway through the first skein before he suddenly comes back to awareness. First he takes in the ball in his hand, then follows the thread back to Jon’s hands, before his eyes land on the focus of Jon’s expression, and he’s suddenly overcome. A giggle rises out of his throat and he’s grinning like an absolute loon. Jon snaps his head up with alarm, but whatever he finds on Martin’s face must be reassuring, because his own goofy grin takes over Jon’s features.

All of this is not enough, obviously, to claim a happy life.. They’re not safe, they’re not even free, not really. But, for the moment, Martin has someone who loves him enough to hold his yarn, and he can bask in that incandescent joy.

#woah! nat can write and complete fic! i didn't know that!#my fic #jonmartin #jon sims #martin blackwood #tma #GOD that picture fills me with love and longing I want someone to smile at me lke that #while I ball my yarn #also love that dress

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prince-of-elsinore · 3 years

Text

I was tagged by @stanfordsweater for this getting to know you game. Thanks so much for the tag! 😊💕 There’s a clean copy at the end for people who want to do this.

1. why did you choose your url?

It was already my user name on AO3 (and maybe some other sites, can't recall) and I wanted consistency across platforms (since I joined tumblr for fandom). And here's the pretentious part: if you didn't know, it's a reference to Hamlet, which is one of my favorite written works ever. Elsinore is the name of the castle where it takes place, so the prince of Elsinore is Hamlet ^^;

2. any sideblogs? if you have them, name them and why you have them.

I have two, though I'm not gonna name them lol (they're not exactly secret but they're old news). When I first joined I wanted my main to be not totally fandom-dominated (whoops so much for that) so I made a side blog for my main fandom at the time (Hetalia), where I now reblog fanart every once in a blue moon. And I made another side blog for my fic. I still occasionally post on the fic blog but since my main is now basically completely spn anyway, I've just been posting my spn fic on main.

3. how long have you been on tumblr?

Since... 2012, I think? But not consistently. I hadn't used tumblr much in years before last fall and even considered deleting my blog multiple times, but spn ending (and the pandemic) brought me back stronger than ever ^^;

4. do you have a queue tag?

#q (i'm lazy and it's just quickest that way 🙈)

5. why did you start your blog in the first place?

If only I could remember... Well, it was for fandom (mostly--also some history blogging) but I don't remember the specific impetus. As mentioned my main fandom was Hetalia at the time, and within that mostly German bros stuff. I also distinctly remember lurking on a lot of Sherlock blogs prior to joining 😬(my how tastes things change)

6. why did you choose your icon/pfp?

It's a Leyendecker illustration! I love his work so so much (so many dapper men, so much homoeroticism 👌). The piece is Easter-themed and I don't actually know why I chose it. This fop is a far cry from his usual suave dudes, but idk, I guess I liked how ott and fancy it is. It also matched the old flowery aesthetic of my blog before I changed the theme.

7. why did you choose your header?

Lol ok so that's a photo I took (on my first visit maybe?) at Sans Souci palace in Potsdam, Germany. It was the residence of Frederick the Great, King of Prussia, who--as anyone will know if they remember my blog days of yore--is my favorite historical figure! The glove is not mine. I found it like that :)

8. what’s your post with the most notes?

As I suspected, this one I made defending Jared's "controversial" comments post-finale. Sort of funny because I'm not even a Jared stan 🤷‍♂️

9. how many mutuals do you have?

No idea

10. how many followers do you have?

Just passed 550, which I know isn't many relatively speaking but wow I certainly never expected to see the day! I've gained about 300 followers since I started posting about spn, which utterly baffles me, but hey I'm glad if you guys are enjoying yourselves!

11. how many people do you follow?

Oh, wow, I just looked and it's over 1,000 😳 I guess b/c over the years I've gone on multiple following sprees and only unfollow if people really really annoy me or if I just get really tired of their content (I do continue to follow a lot of people who post about fandoms I'm not in). I feel like I usually see the same <50 blogs on my dash, though, so I'm guessing about 900 of the blogs I follow must be completely inactive lol.

12. have you ever made a shitpost?

Yes 🙃

13. how often do you use tumblr each day?

Varies. Over the past months I would check it every hour or more, felt like (not v conducive to getting work done orz). Recently (due to being away from my computer more often, now that the semester and my old job are finished) only a couple times a day, mostly at night.

14. did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? who won?

Hm, not really. Nothing more than a couple snarky or passive-aggressive asks, and not for years (aside from that anon anti hate I got sort of recently--my first ever! I would say I win that one by default, y'know, just for not being the person sending anon hate). I did get into a pretty drawn-out debate with a Dean stan about Dean's death and Jared's comments on it--see above--but I wouldn't classify it as an argument.

15. how do you feel about “you need to reblog this” posts?

Very Tired and skeptical

16. do you like tag games?

Yes they're great! Always make me smile (even if I don't participate I always appreciate the tag!) 😊

17. do you like ask games?

Yes, although I have to be careful about posting them because while I love getting asks in theory, getting them means I have to answer them! And I tend to be very slow at that because I want to put so much thought into it! (Send me asks any time, really! Might just take me forever to respond ^^;) ((Oh gosh this reminds me I still never finished some headcanon asks I got aaages ago. Maybe someday...))

18. which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

I don't have a good sense of what constitutes tumblr famous. My fave blogs are all stars in my eyes 🤩😇

19. do you have a crush on a mutual?

Haha no. Maybe with a few I just have a little cherished hope that they think I'm cool and smart 🥺

20. tags?

Hmm I pick @theregoestheneighbourhood, @doilycoffin, @decadent-prince, and @fallcolorspringrapid if you want to!!

clean copy:

1. why did you choose your url?

2. any sideblogs? if you have them, name them and why you have them.

3. how long have you been on tumblr?

4. do you have a queue tag?

5. why did you start your blog in the first place?

6. why did you choose your icon/pfp?

7. why did you choose your header?

8. what’s your post with the most notes?

9. how many mutuals do you have?

10. how many followers do you have?

11. how many people do you follow?

12. have you ever made a shitpost?

13. how often do you use tumblr each day?

14. did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? who won?

15. how do you feel about “you need to reblog this” posts?

16. do you like tag games?

17. do you like ask games?

18. which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

19. do you have a crush on a mutual?

20. tags?

#that was fun thanks ava!#about me #tag game

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waldoirby · 3 years

Photo

“The Composer Lost in Thought,’ digital media, unknown date (2018 or 2019)

This is an old piece that I just rediscovered as I was going through my archives. I could never get it to a place where I was fully satisfied with it. I still feel that way, but in retrospect, I think it’s worth posting. Partly inspired by a photo of Tchaikovsky resting his head in his hand in a similar pose, this was mainly an attempt to emulate a painterly style digitally (particularly J. C. Leyendecker’s style). Ultimately I think I learned a lot from making this piece. If I were to do it again I’d approach it totally differently, but... it’s not all bad?

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serifsans · 3 years

Note

🌾 Describe your OC through the eyes of someone absolutely head-over-heels in love with them (obv from Vlad's POV)

So I am young and the world, it’s bad, yeah? It’s hard. It’s very hard. I have nothing and no one except my daughter but she is very small then. I go on because I must but there is no joy, there is no comfort. Then I find him and suddenly there is a whole universe and I am not alone. He looks at me like maybe I am art. He gives me starlight.

What do you want me to say? He is my heart.

When he smiles, it is fake. He must think about smiles first. Do you think I mind this? No, no, of course not. Of course they are fake. Why should they not be? He is not human and I do not forget this, not ever. He wants to be. I would give him my humanity if I could. I do not want it. So he practices his smiles in secret so that he doesn’t get them wrong when it’s expected of him. When you surprise him and you delight him, he does not smile until he remembers but he shakes so much that you think he must be cold. He doesn’t like this. It’s cute to me.

Jean-Paul wants so much. Some people say that’s a bad thing but I think that maybe it’s good to know what you want, how you want to get there. So many people say that it’s the proper way to suffer but I do not think there is anything good in suffering. I think that if we are here, we should enjoy it. But, and I love him very much, but he is not sensible sometimes. It’s okay. These things are hard. I am not sensible most of the time. He wants big and he makes big plans and most of the time, he gets what he wants. I like that. The two of us have greedy hearts.

He thinks so much about things that I never stopped to think about in my entire life and that maybe no one else stopped to think about. It makes me want to learn all I can just to keep up with him. You look into his eyes and you can see the wheels turning, the plots he’s making. You look into his eyes and you see stars. It doesn’t matter what shape he’s in. They never go away.

He spends most of the night painting and then he spends most of the day talking about what he will paint next. He makes cards. They’re good! I like them. He thinks he’s only scamming people into buying his work but he does not realize his own skill.

He complains that he cannot reach things on tall shelves. I hear this a lot. He could make himself tall. He could float. But that won’t do. He looks at me with sad eyes and asks me if I can use my superior height and get something heavy down for him because he is weak and so, so sad. I think he does this to seduce me, haha. It works.

He looks like a Leyendecker print and talks like an old movie and swears like a sailor. He can look like anything but that is what he most often looks like and that’s what he looks like when he kisses me. The neighbors must think that I am the worst sort of playboy because he sneaks into my house wearing all sorts of forms. Let them talk.

He has caused three grease fires, so he is not allowed to cook anymore. He chews all his pencils up and then is sad because someone who was not him clearly broke in to chew on his pencils. He reads trashy magazines and pretends he doesn’t. He’s a thief and a ex-conman. He is banned from most popular websites because he gets into fights for no reason. Do not believe him when he says that he does not use social media. He lies. He dances very badly and I dance worse. He pretends he is very fancy and has always been so but he is still a punk at heart. I love him more than anyone else I have ever kissed.

I would have him for my wife if he would say yes but...you know how it is.

#lambonthealtar #vlad speaks

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wildcard47 · 5 years

Note

6.Wild, breathless kisses brought on by a heartfelt gift or 42. Distracting kisses from someone that are meant to stop the other person from finishing their work, and give them kisses instead for Fitzier? Your writing is top-notch ;)

First: OMG your icon, WHERE DID YOU GET IT; second, TY for the prompt and the compliment!

6. Wild breathless kisses brought on by a heartfelt gift

Perched on one edge of their sofa, Francis shook the flat, rectangular package from side-to-side in one hand as if he were shaking a tambourine in a 60s folk band; although the immaculate blue foil paper didn’t budge an inch, and the gift didn’t make noise in an obvious way, it was impossible to notice the way James flinched and hissed at this joke.

“Francis.”

“Just checking to see it’s not a puppy.” Francis’s smile widened as he caught James’s narrow-eyed glare. “All right, now I’ll open it.”

Purposefully taking his time, certain it would be another one of those instances where James supposedly bought him an incredible gift – which was not at all to Francis’s taste and was more suited, in fact, for James’s – Francis resigned himself to badly-faked enthusiasm as he cut through the last of the tape with his pocketknife, and unwrapped the face of the gift.

It was a framed picture, as he’d imagined, but instead of facing down some sort of odd spy show fanart or an offbeat embroidery filled with curse words, Francis saw something very ordinary.

“An old newspaper.”

Pulling a puzzled face, he glanced over at James, who sat shockingly still and quiet next to him. Still clueless, Francis turned back to the framed front page. London Saturday Review. May fifth, nineteen ten. The illustration was of a handsome auburn-haired woman in a sinuous black dress, wearing a dark fur-trimmed scarlet cloak and balancing a long, slender cigarette holder between two fingers. Looked like a witchy Little Red Riding Hood.

“Think he was trying to copy the Leyendecker illustrations from the Post,” was all James said, clearing his throat. “Glamorous young things, and all that.”

“Right.” Francis still didn’t understand why this mattered, or why he was receiving a copy of some American-inspired newspaper art – and then he glanced at the caption in the bottom right corner.

Set in minuscule type just below the artist’s signature was a small caption, no bigger than his little finger: Miss Moira Graham.

“That’s funny. She’s got the same name as my Memo.”

James said nothing, although one corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. He was silent for so long that Francis had to study the illustration again.

Although this woman – barely more than a girl, really – wore clothes that made her look as wealthy as an eligible countess, and therefore nothing like the Memo he remembered from childhood, the shape of her eyes when she smiled still seemed familiar. The amused purse of her lips made him think of the way Memo had always grinned while telling a joke, even if this girl’s face was full and unlined, and her elaborately-pinned hair was thick and glossy.

“Done by John Lavery.” James touched the side of the frame with two fingers, barely crooking his fingertips against one corner. “According to the records, the woman who was supposed to model didn’t show up that day, and the only other girl – office typist – had a fainting spell. On the way to find a new muse, Lavery got run down on the pavement by a hot-tempered Irish girl on a safety bicycle. Who told him to get the hell out of the way, because she had deliveries to make.”

Before she’d married, Memo Moira had worked as a delivery girl for a local farmer, carrying eggs and butter and produce in a basket on her bicycle. Said it had been one of the happiest times of her life.

“You mean... it’s actually.... ?��

“Your Memo.” James touched Francis’s forearm, now. “Found it sitting in a dusty attic on my research trip in March. Thought she looked familiar, figured I’d ask around. Antiques Roadshow people won’t leave me alone now.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Francis stared open-mouthed at the framed portrait, unable to tear his eyes away from his Memo’s face, now that he knew who she was. He didn’t think he’d seen any photos of her taken before she had kids. The few he had were all from his mother. In most of them, Memo hovered in the background, a blur of reliable blouses and dark trousers against a sea of birthday cakes and church functions and school graduations. Never mind how she’d looked during Francis’s own childhood, ambling slowly through a dilapidated house in lumpy sweaters and worn house dresses, with her salt and pepper hair knotted into a bun and hidden under dark knitted caps.

“She was really pretty,” he whispered after several minutes of studying the likeness, now brushing the pad of his thumb against the bloom of summer flowers pinned at her temple. A burst of delight rushed into his stomach as he thought about how bold she must have been, to go posing for a strange artist with no notice. “Wasn’t she?”

“Yeah.” James’s fingers tucked hair behind Francis’s left ear before fluttering back to his left shoulder. “Beautiful.”

Slowly, not wanting to jostle the portrait an inch, Francis placed it face-up onto the nearby coffee table, ensuring it was evenly balanced and not in danger of falling onto the carpet before he turned back to James.

“So,” James said, looking nervous, but he did not get a chance to complete the sentence, because Francis launched himself forward, gathered James in his arms, and kissed the damn dickens out of the man, running his hands through James’s messy curls and over his muscular shoulders and down the small of his back until he groaned against Francis’s mouth.

“Oh! Fra’cis, we – ” James could hardly eke out the words, head falling onto Francis’s shoulder as Francis’s fingers teased around the hem of his shirt “ – we’ll miss our reserv – ”

“Hush, love.” Francis was already breathing hard as he leaned forward to kiss James again; his boyfriend gasped aloud though Francis had barely touched him yet. “Let me thank you properly.”

#fitzier #francis crozier/james fitzjames #my fanfiction #kissing meme

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brothersemberfell · 6 years

Text

Quick Bio: Thordemar Emberfell

General information——

FULL NAME: Thordemar Ashelanar Emberfell

NICKNAME(S): Thor, Thunderfoot, Bumblebee

TITLE(S): Dawnward of the Sunguard. Artisan Engineer. Lord of the Emberwood

AGE: 129 (whatever a 32 year old human equivalent is)

BIRTHDAY: September 7th

RACE: Sin’dorei

GENDER: Male

MARITAL/RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Taken & Courting

Physical appearance——

HAIR: Long, platinum blonde. Often worn up in a high tail or braided with flowers

EYES: olive.

HEIGHT: 6′1″.

BUILD: Athletic, rugged. Large hands, solid frame. Stocky in the legs.

DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Faded scar down his cheek from his left eye. Missing his right arm, entirely replaced with a fully functional titansteel prosthetic.

TATTOOS: Runic markings stretch the surface of his prosthetic arm, but otherwise no others.

PIERCINGS: None.

COMMON ACCESSORIES: Arcane goggles, motorcycle keys, a sword at all times (probably sleeps with it under his bed too) Enchanted flowers twined in his hair.

personal information——

PROFESSION: Engineer / Soldier.

HOBBIES: Tinkering/modding his bike. working his garden, smithing craft, fixing broken things, fixing things that aren’t broken, breaking things, caring/riding animals, sharpening his outdoors-man skills. Early morning rides on his motorcycle through Silvermoon and avoiding getting caught for noise complaints.

SKILL(S): Mechanical and magical engineering, metalsmithing, martial combat, sword & board, animal husbandry, gardening, woodworking, siege weapons, and strategy against fortified targets.

LANGUAGE(S): Thalassian, Common, Orcish.

RESIDENCE: His parents’ land, the Emberwood, 150 acres of south western Thalassian forest where he erected a homestead. His brother, Felo’thore, and two neighboring coworkers, Avada & Thinariel live on nearby plots. @emberfallen @pyrosophist

BIRTHPLACE: Fairbreeze Village, Quel’Thalas.

PATRON DEITY: Belore

FEARS: Losing loved ones.

relationships——

SPOUSE (lady friend):

Xenus Everdusk @sakialyn

CHILDREN:

4 thalassian tomato plants he’s given names to in his garden (otherwise none yet)

PARENTS:

Selea (Ashelanar) Emberfell (mother, deceased) Rhandelen Emberfell (father, deceased)

SIBLINGS:

Felo’thore (Emberfell) Novastorm (brother, alive)

OTHER RELATIVES:

Xelda Ashelanar (Aunt, alive) Lord Laedron Ashelanar (maternal grandfather, alive & salty) Adrianal Novastorm (brother-in-law, alive) Velianor Novastorm (sister-in-law, alive) @ocarina-of-what

traits——

• extroverted / introverted / in between.

• disorganized / organized / in between.

• close minded / open-minded / in between.

• calm / anxious / in between.

• disagreeable / agreeable / in between.

• cautious / reckless / in between.

• patient / impatient / in between.

• outspoken / reserved / in between.

• leader / follower / in between.

• empathetic / indifferent / in between.

• optimistic / pessimistic / in between.

• traditional / modern / in between.

• hard-working / lazy / in between.

• cultured / uncultured / in between.

• loyal / disloyal / in between.

• assertive / timid / in between

additional information—— —

SMOKING: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

DRUGS: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

ALCOHOL: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

extra——

FACIAL REFERENCE(S): I draw inspiration from Arrow man from JC Leyendecker’s illustrations and a bit of Chris Hemsworth.

ALIGNMENT: Lawful Neutral.

TAGGED BY: @captainswingbeard

TAGGING: @please-respond @moonunveiled @magistrixvoidchaser @thenaaru @tyleril-silversword @shampoocommercialelves @mori-sketchbook and anyone I mentioned above

#memes #character bio thing #stuff I was tagged in #did thor because I dont talk about him enough

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sleepymarmot · 6 years

Text

COUNTER/Weight liveblog, part 3

Finale +post-mortem

Am I glad to return to the political big picture! It's such a relief that the finale is in this format! Hopefully it won't devolve into another “fighting a giant robot” scene.

Oh, so the Chime are leading the faction game now! Somehow I completely missed the point of the two previous scenes that indicated Aria becoming the new leader of the Righteous Vanguard – I was very surprised and then 10 minutes later went “Oh that's what it was, time to go back and relisten”

Pronoun update: Austin consistently uses “they”, Art consistently uses “he”. End my suffering…

The sheer comedic impact of seven Makos, Larry and Lazer Ted all in a room together has healed my soul immediately. Can we end on this image so nothing bad happens

I'm so proud of Orth!! “I'm sorry, which one are you?” lmao

Oooh the relationship drama~ But how come Jacqui didn't know Jill was alive? Actually, now that I think of it, back then it was clearly said that Jacqui knows Jillian is back and is sad because Jillian doesn't remember her. This show's retcons…

Look I know shit must hit the fan pretty soon but for now this finale is just. So relaxing. I'm having a lot of fun listening to these squabbles. (The only exception were Mako and Orth – boys, stop fighting, why!)

That Cass & Aria scene was cool but please don't give me world leader old friends sneaking away for secret stress relief sparring sessions when I'm not supposed to start shipping them

Oh hell yeah, I was hoping that since Jacqui went with Jillian, Aria would go with Ibex. (Not very relevant here, but Ibex is from Kesh like Maryland, right? If so, there must be fanart of young Ibex and Maryland in 19th century outfits?)

Stop cryptically saying oh Sokrates isn't here, oh they aren't using their candidate name, like what's up with them?! Are they doing well? I'm worried!

Oh Orth wants to dance with Ibex huh *eyes emoji* Rematch! Rematch!

“I'll take anything” “Anything?” My mind, of course, autocompletes “Then perish”

THIS WAS A LOT and I need to take a couple of minutes to start breathing normally again. Also there just has to be a lovingly drawn fanart adaptation of this entire scene (in, like, fukcing Leyendecker style), come on fandom please say someone has done it

Jacq/Jill continuing with the heartbreaking scenes, I see

Mako doesn't like dancing now…… holy shit this is the most upsetting ball ever… (The cynical part of me must say that it's only Austin who talks about this connection, Keith doesn't and still sounds way less emotional about the whole thing than the others assume Mako to be)

I amend my previous statement, I also need fanart with snapshots of every dance: Orth firmly taking Ibex's hand and receiving a surprised but approving look, Jillian throwing her head back in laughter and Jacqui watching with a pained smile, sullen Mako leaning on a wall cross-armed and looking for an opportunity to slip away, Cass dropping his one-liner with a completely dispassionate face.

Wow Ibex is really getting ready for death. Sounds as if he knows the exact date.

HOLY SHIT THE DIVINES' ORIGIN STORY!!! FINALLY!!! I'm surprised they were all created by the same person…

I'm relieved Mako and Orth are on good terms again!

I love the new Aria as this competent politician who does a lot of swordfighting and dealing with old flames

Have I mentioned I really love the game they're playing? It almost synthesizes the best parts of the game they played previously – as if it was written just for this finale. It's so great how this show and specifically this campaign go through so many games, showing the universe and the characters from different angles, instead of having them be defined by only one game system and its limitations and quirks.

That's some real good mech if it can function for 80,000 years, Divines' body or not!

Okay, I fucking knew Liberty and Discovery would split up at some point (which is what I meant above by my expectations for AuDy's fate), but why is Liberty attacking Ibex?

Mako's robots!!! :DDD Now that's the real finale shit!

I CAN'T BELIEVE Keith missed Tower's brief appearance of all things. It's like a fucking scene from the show on the level of dramatic irony. They were truly not meant to be, even the universe in real life is saying that. Do you ever get rejected so badly that the guy you like runs away from you at the prom, and then lets you fall into a deadly portal with the rest of your planet, and then you get brainwashed, and then you are killed by an ally of that guy, and the person playing him doesn't even witness that?!

I thought Orth was going to challenge Kobus about Liberty…

“I have Liberty contained” *winces*

Every time it is asked what is Mako wearing I just mentally pull out the popcorn

“I welcome anyone to tell Cass that AuDy is a non-person”

Let me restate how much I'm loving how the scenes that in any other show would be minor fluff or short summaries in an epilogue are a legit fully rendered part of the finale

Sokrates & Orth reunion please!!

Aw Ted! It never occured to me that this comic relief character has, in fact, lost his entire planet and almost everyone he knows.

…I think I like Apokine Cass more than Chime Cass

That's a big lore dump holy cow! I'm glad Apostolosians are ex-humans after all, but I wonder how they turned into fish people

So what happened to the idea of Mako hacking Grace?

They just… went and straight up murdered two Divines… If it had happened early in the show I'd probably cheer, and no tears were shed for Grace, but Liberty… Just take a third of another player character and drive it into a sun…

Of course. I knew Sokrates is the kind of character who dies nobly in a grand finale.

I've spent all this time wondering how the piece of Voice in Mako doesn't get infected by Rigor, and it seems to finally happen and Larry seems to die repairing it, but what about all other Makos, aren't they in danger too?

This is way too easy so far, just sacrifice NPCs one by one to win.

This whole time I was assuming Mako saved as many clones as he could, not just his own… If he gets another turn I bet it's submit or die :/

Hello I'm crying over Lazer Ted! Choices in the campaign sound futile now: who cares which guy Mako saved – they both died anyway! All named NPCs did!

Except for Jacqui. Congratulations, the NPC Who Lived! (I mistyped “loved” at first, which is also relevant. And yes, I cried here too.)

How the hell would falling into a sun kill Rigor if it was previously not killed by a bomb that destroys hundreds of suns?

Poor Cass… Not only sacrificing yourself in such a difficult way, but to have a final conversation only just to learn that your friend, a passionate revolutionary further empowered by Righteousness, has deserted… The sheer contempt and disappointment he pours in just three words “Ibex told you”...

Welp. Mako's fate was not tragic like I feared! Good news I guess, but it's still kind of sad. And I think the saddest part is that Mako himself doesn't realize. Because it can just sound like the natural continuation of his character growth – after he had to learn to be the responsible one first in contrast to Larry and then to the other Makos. But it's not that, or not just that, and it's kind of chilling to hear that he never knows it, and never knows peace.

Executive Joie, oh my… It's so strange and cool how Aria somehow continues the legacy of Jace and Ibex at once.

The race is over. It's so strange that now there are no consequences to fear or spoilers to avoid.

I didn't like the final battle as much as the rest of the finale – I hoped for a more clever solution than just throwing bodies at the enemy (but I guess the intro warned me lol…). Especially since these bodies had very unequal impact – I'm not going to care about Diego Rose or Chet Wise or Orth's newly-created lieutenants or as much as I care about Jacqui -- so it felt unfair towards players/characters who had more important or likeable chracters in their faction. I'm opposed on principle to making the big confrontation feel important and emotional just by killing off characters (hi, J. K. Rowling and Russo brothers), I think it's cheap and emotionally manipulative, but in this case the emotional manipulation doesn't even work so it’s doubly disappointing.

If someone's reading this, you can see that what I expected or wanted from the story was not what it gave me, and that was frustrating or disappointing at times. But nevertheless, it was a wild ride.

I've slept on it and it still fucks me up that out of the Chime only Aria gets a genuinely happy ending! Cass is fucking dead, Liberty is dead while AuDy becomes a ghost, and Mako loses everyone and is lonely for the rest of his life!

It's so strange to listen to the opening theme in the post-mortem and think that this is the second-to-last time. (Relistens don't count, it's not the same thing.) By the way, I love that theme – it sounds like a half song with the words on the tip of my tongue, like space, or like city at night. Really atmospheric.

I love how everyone continues to be into that moment where Aria has the opportunity to kill Cass lol (I am too)

Yeah, thanks for reminding me about that coin toss moment for Kobus in the finale, that was so sudden and shocking I was completely losing it for the long few seconds it lasted

I'm glad someone asked whether Jack knew the Big Spoiler in advance – he was so calm about it in the following episodes that I started wondering

Oh so it wasn't my imagination that the players needed the comic relief of the Lazer Ted episode no less than the characters

After a sad talk about Mako's dead friends, Andi, cheerfully: “I love to kill and I love to hurt and I never regretted anything I ever did! :D” which won the least surprising comment of the hour award lol. Honestly, after that one scene with Diego I started to get a bit nervous whenever Andi announced they had an idea… C/w was fun because I now realize the cinnamon roll Aubrey was actually them playing against type.

I love that someone asked about Mako's first kiss and/or Orth's fandom life!!

Keith's answer is sad, though… He “had literally never considered Mako even being capable of kissing someone, like it wasn't something on the table” and that was unexpected to me. I'd mentioned several times that he sounded reluctant to play up the romance, but I was assuming it was the player's preference, not an innate trait of the character whose attraction to someone was a part of his character creation. How do I interpret it? Mako is aro? Mako never had a chance to properly grow emotionally because his youth was fake and for the rest of his life, all emotional connections were sabotaged by Rigour's shadow, and also literally all his potential love interests died? Ugh, I just keep making myself more and more upset.

Holy shit I forgot about Art asking if there's an old Apostolosian mech on September by any chance lmao

Cene always knew?! Holy shit w h a t

It's nice to hear Ali talk about her growth in confidence as a player because she's definitely kind of an inspiration – for years I've thought tabletop roleplaying is too intense and I'll never do it, but when I finally tried out it was not so scary, so maybe there's hope for me too!

The concept that the real challenge of the final battle was that the easier it would be to defeat Rigor, the worse shape would the world be afterwards sounds much better than what that battle actually felt like to me. Instead of paying for victory with the health of society and their faction's political power, in the actual gameplay they paid with NPCs from their circle and that was it; the political consequences came later and sounded entirely unrelated. Maybe if they had to go against their faction's goals or sacrifice its assets – e.g. “use Minerva's Rigor-tech mechs in exchange for the promise to leave them alone afterwards” instead of “sacrifice all Mako clones”… Aria had something similar with Weight, but it was the price of Jacqui's life, not the price of a victorious battle against Rigour.

It's very cool to learn where the sound effects in the theme come from! And god, every line as its own take? My head hurts just imagining that…

Austin getting distracted by the idea of fucking Rigor was hilarious, but I never, ever want to hear the word “daddy” in this context! What's with these jokes this season, ew, please stop.

Excuse me, Ali wanted to kiss Ibex as who exactly, Jace or Aria? Both options are equally crazy!

See, “You wanna say ‘Oh he was just doing what was necessary, he was just doing the thing that's good in the end’, and yeah that's him working on you” is exactly why he reminds me of Dukat! Literally the same mind game on the viewers/listeners!

Why is the link broken, I want to see AuDy in Titanfall!

Listening to team “Fuck Ibex!” and team “Fuck Ibex ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)” yell at each other is very entertaining

“Nobody on the Kingdom Come is cishet” is a nice sentiment but I'm kind of confused by which definition of cis Cass is not. Have I missed something about them changing pronouns in-universe? Just because English doesn't have exact analogies for the Apostolosian pronouns doesn't mean everyone who uses them isn't following their own society's conventions. And now Austin also's saying “We never wanted to say these pronouns are equivalent to gender” which is, a, not true, and b, sends the whole problem back to square one – because if that's not the Apostolosian gender then what is? This! Is! A! Mess!

#friends at the table #blah blah blah

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goddamnshinyrock · 7 years

Photo

Someone in the notes of the last Leyendecker post I reblogged mentioned having difficulty telling his work and Rockwell’s apart, and I know from experience that many people get them confused, which is somewhat astonishing as, to my eyes, their styles are very distinct. Leyendecker was Rockwell’s idol and mentor, but they were very different people and were interested in portraying different aspects of humanity, even when the basic subject matter was the same.

Surface-level, here are some differences:

Leyendecker smoothed out faults and imperfections (in the young. he stylized them in the old); Rockwell exaggerated them to mild or moderate caricature

Leyendecker approached his paintings as sculpture- even the merest clothing folds are carved out of the paint; Rockwell approached his paintings as drawings- the underlying contour always shines through.

Leyendecker used broad hatching brushstrokes and areas of smooth shine; Rockwell used more naturalistic texture and lighting

Leyendecker created idolized, larger-than-life figures that feel Hellenistic in their perfection; Rockwell created intimate scenes populated by figures that feel familiar in their specificity

Leyendecker’s best and most comfortable work was as a fashion/lifestyle illustrator; Rockwell’s best and most comfortable work was as an editorial/humor illustrator

Leyendecker created beautiful still lives with his figures; Rockwell told compelling stories

Leyendecker often created erotic tension in his paintings; Rockwell almost never did.

See below: Two paintings of soldiers with women, but in Rockwell’s there is a clear punchline, and while the poses are contrived for the sake of composition, they’re not self-conscious. The women are pretty- as demanded by the central joke- but not truly sexualized anywhere but in the mind of the young soldier who is being overloaded with cake and attention.

Contrast Leyendecker’s soldiers with a young nurse. Everyone in this image is posing attractively- no one has their mouth full or ears sticking out. Each crease and fold is sharp and sculptural, and the light picks out their best features- in particular the shoulders and posterior of the soldier facing away from the viewer. There is neither joke nor story, merely a group of beautiful young people, portrayed with deft brushwork and graceful lines. (and check out that hatching! That’s indicator #1 that you’ve got a Leyendecker image)

Leyendecker was very comfortable with “hot young things wearing clothes”, and did them very VERY well, but his facility with idealization came at the cost of personalization, which was fine for fashion illustration, but shows in his domestic scenes:

Beautiful, but... cold. (Also, that hand on the left- who holds a baby with their hand like that??? Good lord, J.C.) Compare a Rockwell illustration (for a baby food brand, I believe) of a mother and baby: this is clearly a real and individual young mother and baby, interacting exactly how parents and babies really interact.

Even when they did basically the same content, and putting aside posing or composition or anything other than objective visual analysis, it’s still obvious who is who:

Red: NR’s smoother rendering vs JCL’s super cool hatching

Green: NR’s naturalistic cloth folds vs JCL’s sculptural stylization

Blue: NR’s natural lighting vs JCL’s world where everything is shiny

Now go forth, confident in the knowledge that you’ll never confuse a Rockwell or a Leyendecker ever again, and can refute any claim that their styles are ‘virtually identical’.

#JC Leyendecker #joseph christian leyendecker #J.C. Leyendecker #Norman Rockwell #Rockwell #ALSO I love Leyendecker but his women and children are CREEPY DOLLS #golden age of american illustration #art history hell #long post is long #it's midnight and I am So Sorry #this took me an hour

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